Doyle walked over to where the body lay sprawled on the ground. His marksmanship had made certain that at least this terrorist would be planting no more bombs. He paused, looked down at her, then made his way to where the rest of the squad were regrouping.

Watching, Bodie groaned inwardly. He knew that expression of old. When Doyle got himself into a black mood, it was hard work to bring him out of it. He could guess from past experience the sort of thoughts that would be running through his partner's mind: relief that the operation had been a success, that citizens of the capital could go about their lives without another bomb threat from the IRA. At least for a while longer. But Doyle had had to kill to achieve this, and no-one could deny that other fanatics would take the place of the cell that had been wiped out with the woman's death.

With a shrug, Bodie slotted his Smith & Wesson back into its holster. It would be up to him to deal with his partner. No-one else would do it for him. Walking over to where Doyle stood a little apart from the other agents, he said, "Good shooting, mate," and touched Doyle lightly on the shoulder.

Doyle shook him off, the bleak expression on his face confirming Bodie's suspicion that his partner was already halfway into a state of depression. But all Doyle said was, "The Cow wants us back for debriefing. Now. Says that Anson can take charge of this…mess."

"Okay." The only way to snap Doyle out of his mood was to get him on his own and talk to him but that would have to wait till after Cowley had finished with them.



Bodie drove them back to headquarters. "She deserved it, Ray," he tried. "Don't forget that when you start feeling sorry for killing her."

Doyle gave him a look of intense loathing and turned his head away to stare out of the car's side window, ignoring his partner completely.

Bodie concentrated on his driving.



The debriefing was short but thorough. Finally Cowley dismissed them both to go home, catch up on the sleep they had not had in the last forty-eight hours, and report for duty in the morning.

"We're going back to my place," Bodie told his partner on leaving the building, almost manhandling him into the Capri before Doyle could object and head for the nearest tube station.

"I want my own bed, mate, not your sofa." But it was a token protest. Doyle settled back in the seat and closed his eyes.



Bodie woke him when they arrived, got him into the building and then into his own hallway. "Food first. Then sleep. And what's wrong with my bed?"

"I'm not in the mood," snapped Doyle. "I want to go to my own place."

Bodie leaned back against his front door, as if to make the point that Doyle would have to go through him to leave. Now they were alone, he could manage the situation.

Ignoring the first comment, he said, "You're staying here. If you want to brood -- go through the whole martyr bit -- then do so where I can keep an eye on you."

"Bastard," Doyle snarled. "You don't give a fuck about what happened, do you?"

"No," said Bodie, refusing to be baited. Losing his cool with Doyle was a sure way of losing the argument, and all too easy to do given his partner's nasty tongue. "I told you, I'm not about to waste my sympathy on the likes of her. She would have shot you dead if she could."

"So 'kill or be killed' is your motto. You're inhuman."

Bodie shrugged. "I'm not the one worrying over what happened. It doesn't prick my conscience. And just you remember she wouldn't've shed a tear over the unlucky sods caught by her bomb."

"Fuck it." Doyle's tone was bitter. "Why did a woman have to be caught up in all this?"

"Woman or man," Bodie told him, "there's no difference when it comes to our job. And if you haven't worked that out, mate, you've no business being on the Squad." He saw the punch coming, blocked it and grabbed Doyle's wrist, twisting him into a choke hold. "Kick me, Doyle, and I'll knock you into next week."

Doyle wrenched against his grip, then was still. "Let me go, Bodie," he said softly, dangerously.

After a moment, Bodie released him, watchful as his partner turned to face him, the green eyes glittering with fury. He made no move to allow Doyle to pass.

"Stop thinking with your balls," he said. "If women choose to operate in a man's world, they take their chances along with the rest of us. And don't start on that 'she was a victim too' crap. We all make our choices in this world. She made the wrong one."

Doyle's fists clenched but Bodie could see he was too tired to fight it out.

"Listen, sunshine," he stepped closer and slid his arms around his partner in a loose embrace, "your choice was to stop people like her hurting the innocent. It's why you joined CI5. It's what you believe in. And I love you for it." It was the truth, though Doyle was hard work at times.

They stood together for a long moment.

Eventually Doyle murmured, "Damn you. Why do you always have to be right?"

Bodie pulled back a little to look at him, his lip curling. "My natural superiority, of course." He could afford a bit of teasing now, could feel the tension leaving Doyle's body.

Situation under control.

-- THE END --

May 1997.
Published in Discovered in a Letterbox 4, December 1997